Soul Drifter (Divinely Touched Book 1)

by Dyan Brown

  “Whoa, Samantha! Are you okay?” He shakes our laced fingers, indicating I should loosen my grip.

  “Where are we going?” I demand so intensely he is taken aback. I try not to begin wheezing.

  “There’s a little spot off Red Rock Hill that I like. I go there to sit and think sometimes,” he says with a frown. He pulls to the right of a fork in the graveled road and points through the trees. I can see the shoreline in the distance. “It’s right there by the water. I’m not trying to take you into the woods to hurt you or anything. I hope you can tell I’m nothing like that.”

  “No, no. It’s nothing like that. I-I-I just didn’t think I would still be affected by it, but I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry. Can we please leave? Anywhere else, just not near the water. Please!”

  Hot tears are now streaming down my face. I try to hide the blotchiness of my skin from him. He rubs my back with one hand and steers with the other.

  “We’re going. I’m going back right now. Hang on, sweetheart.” Sympathy and concern are etched in his tone. He abandons his meticulous driving as we tear back onto the small park road.

  I grip my locket until my hand hurts. Once all water is out of sight, Grayson pulls over to the side of the road, unbuckles his seatbelt, and turns to face me. “Better?”

  I nod. “I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed,” I say, wiping tears away with the back of my hand.

  He gently rubs my shoulder, then takes a white linen handkerchief out of the console and hands it to me. G.C.D. is embroidered in the corner. I rub my thumb over the letters. Of course he uses a handkerchief. The thought makes me chuff a laugh without smiling.

  “So, I’m gathering this has nothing to do with me?” His frown is still present, but it has changed from confusion to concern.

  All I can do is nod and look at the expensive white cloth in my hand.

  “There are a few hiking trails close by. We could just walk around? Unless you’d like to leave?”

  I slowly shake my head but can feel the intensity of his gaze on me, assessing.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll take you home.”

  “No, I don’t want to go,” I say quickly. Too quickly. Clearing my throat, I try again. “Walking would be nice. Clear my head. Please, forget I acted this way. I’m mortified at myself right now.”

  “You know you’re not off the hook, right?”

  He’s still looking at me dead on, but I can’t bring myself to look into the deep blue of his eyes. “Yeah, I know,” I say between sniffles. “I’ll tell you, but just let me calm down.”

  I know I owe him an explanation and lying outright isn’t really me. Avoidance? Absolutely. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him nod and turn back toward the wheel. He buckles back up and takes us along the park roads, following the markers indicating trails for walking and biking.

  After about a minute of slow driving, which bordered on ridiculous, we’re almost back to the park entry. He pulls off into a small graveled parking area with a few other cars and throws the truck into park.

  “It’s been about three hours since breakfast,” he says. “Do you want to stop for lunch before we go?”

  “No, lets walk for a little while first.”

  Everything looks peaceful as I glance around at the huge trees that surround us. The foliage is unusually green for the end of June, but it was a very wet spring. I imagine it will only be a few more weeks before everything turns from lush green to straw-like yellow brown.

  “All right.” He unbuckles his seatbelt again and turns to the paper bag I’d forgotten about in the backseat. Rummaging inside, he pulls out two bottles of water, removing the tabs for the sports tops and putting the plastic curls in the door bin. Setting the bottles down in his lap, he digs back into the bag. This time, Grayson’s hand emerges holding two granola bars that he puts beside the water. He reaches farther behind the seat and grabs a baseball cap, then goes back to the bag for a third time and pulls out another, brand-new cap.

  I’m beginning to have Mary Poppins flashbacks about that bag.

  “As much as I’d love for you to leave your hair down, I think you’ll want this,” he says, removing the tag from the crimson OU hat and handing it to me.

  It’s simple, but it makes me smile. He seems to think of ways to make me comfortable; it’s sweet.

  “Thank you!” I gather my curls, pull them through the hole in the back of the cap, and then pull the hat on. It’s a little loose, so I tighten the strap in back and look over at Grayson for the first time since we entered the park. “How is it?”

  “I don’t think anyone will be able to tell you’re from Texas.”

  His laugh is infectious, and I find myself laughing, too. It’s so easy to be myself with him, even when I’m a goof.

  “Blend in with the natives, huh?”

  “Why do you think I have a truck?” he quips. “You learn how to blend in in your first year, but at least you have a drawl already. Trust me, being a ‘Yankee’ doesn’t help me at all down here.” He chuckles, putting a horribly exaggerated Okie accent on the word Yankee. “Come on, let’s go. We’ll come back for lunch in a little while.”

  He kills the engine and opens the door. I hurriedly stuff the damp handkerchief in my pocket not knowing what else to do with it.

  We get out of the cab, and he comes around to meet me at the corner of the truck. Handing me a bottle of water and pocketing the granola bars, he reaches for my hand. I give it willingly, then hope to God my palms don’t sweat. We walk over to the right, and I see the entrance to the trail.

  The walk isn’t so bad. There are lots of trees, so considering it’s in the low nineties, it could be a lot worse. We’re near enough to the water that a small breeze comes through the trees every now and then, giving us a break from the steamy air. I take a breath to clear away the thoughts of the murky water.

  Luckily, there are some narrow parts to the trail. We can’t hold hands the entire time, which gives me small opportunities to wipe my palm on my shorts before he grabs it again. Before he has a chance to ask me why I freaked out on him, I try a preemptive subject change.

  “So, April said you do m–martial arts?” I try to sound casual but end up with an awkward stutter.

  “Yeah, I’ve been doing Taekwondo since I was a kid. Did you know that Taekwondo was introduced into the Olympics in the thirties but didn’t actually become an official Olympic sport until 1964, over thirty years later?”

  I’m starting to like all the historical tidbits he shares when we find a new subject. It feels like he’s letting me see his inner nerd. Somehow, I get the feeling that he doesn’t do that with everyone.

  “I was training for the Olympics when I was younger, but some things… changed. I help teach kids on Saturdays now.”

  “That sounds like fun,” I say as we round a curve in the trail. “Maybe I could come and watch sometime?”

  He frowns a little. “I’ll have to ask the Saseong. I know parents are allowed to watch, but I’ve never brought a guest. He’s very traditional and I don’t want to offend Saseong.” He chuckles again. “I would love for you to see what I do, though. I’ll let you know what he says.”

  I smile up at him, squinting as the sunlight slips under the bill of my cap. “Maybe you can show me some moves sometime.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says quickly, smile gone.

  “Well, teach me something defensive and then maybe if I’m ever in trouble, I can protect myself,” I say pointedly.

  “Yeah, maybe. Let me think about it.”

  The frown has returned to its spot. He sure does sound like a dad a lot of the time, but, then again, I have to remember that’s exactly the role he was sent here to assume by their father. “‘Protect your sister like I would and keep her out of trouble!’” April had said, doing an impression, I assumed, of their dad.

  I wonder if his dad is the reason he stopped going for the Olympics. What a massive dream to give up. That was probably when th
e affair hit the news and his dad needed to focus everything on the company. But if so, why not just go back to training for the games as soon as things settled and gossip slowed? Surely, he wouldn’t have been that far behind.

  “What changed?” I ask. “I mean, why did you stop training for the Olympics?”

  “What happened at the water?”

  Crap! He subject-changed me!

  “I—uh…”

  “You know, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’d really like to know what happened.”

  He sounds so sincere it almost makes me want to tell him. Almost.

  “You’ll think I’m… weird,” I say softly.

  He pauses, pulling my hand back to make me stop and face him. “I doubt, very seriously, anything you tell me will make me change how I feel about you.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “How do you feel about me?” I ask, teasing him.

  “Nope. Only one subject change per minute, and you’re up.”

  Guess our subject-jumping game is obvious to more than just me. Jesus, I’m beginning to think he doesn’t even sweat he’s so perfect.

  I sigh. “Well, guess I couldn’t hide my past forever, but I was hoping for more than a weekend,” I say sarcastically and start walking again. “A few years ago, my older sister died.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Samantha,” he says quickly, squeezing my hand.

  “Thanks. I took it hard. Extremely hard, to be honest. We were really close.” I reach up instinctively and play with my silver heart locket. “She…” I pause, not knowing what to tell him. I decide the former truth is less complicated. “Doctors think she had a seizure and lost control of her car as she was driving by Lake Ray Hubbard. She was about to cross a bridge when it happened. The car veered off the road, flipped, and landed in the water.

  “Someone passing by saw the whole thing, called 911, and jumped in to save her, but I guess they had some trouble getting to her ‘cause the final cause of death was drowning.” I swallow hard at the words. “She died on the way to the hospital, and she was revived to a comatose state.”

  My thoughts wander to my parents in the school office as I kick a kiwi-sized rock off the path and into the brush. “Actually… I don’t think they ever revived her. They were just trying to get us to the hospital before they told us. I never thought about it before. I never got to see her until the funeral, and then it didn’t even look like her.”

  “Is that hers?” Grayson asks, nodding toward the locket.

  “Yeah, she was wearing it then.” I look down at it. “The hospital gave her stuff to our parents, and Mom gave it to me to try and calm me down after I had my first panic attack.”

  “Is that what just happened a little bit ago?”

  “Almost. That wasn’t a full-blown attack. They used to be way worse. After she died, I had dreams… nightmares, of her death. Like I was the one driving the car, not Sahra. I was there, driving along. Then the car goes to the right, and as hard as I try, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I flip and slide upside down for what seems like forever before slamming into the water. The car floats for a few seconds, and then water starts coming in faster and faster, sucking me down. I try to break the glass and do whatever I can to get out, but nothing works. By the time the water covers my head, I usually wake up screaming.”

  “That sounds terrifying.”

  “Yes. Thankfully, those dreams are getting farther and farther apart, but I still have some issues with lakes…” I pause to gather my nerve. “And with driving.”

  He looks over at me with a little surprise. I wait for him to roll his eyes or say that it’s ridiculous, but he doesn’t.

  “The bike.” Not a question.

  “Yes. I’m sorry, but this isn’t the type of thing you shout from the rooftops. It’s so embarrassing. I really could have done without you knowing at all, except I want to get to know you and be honest with you. I just didn’t want you to think I was weird. They weren’t very understanding back home.”

  “You got teased?”

  I nod, looking at the ground. “Pretty badly. No one really took the time to understand—or even ask—why I was having the panic attacks. Guess they just assumed I’d gone crazy after my sister died. I just didn’t give a shit about explaining myself after so many quote-unquote friends started distancing themselves from me.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, I let the air puff out through my lips in a long low whoosh of wind. “So,” I say, treading carefully, “now that you know how much of a weirdo I am, do you still have any of those feelings?”

  I can’t breathe as I wait for him to answer. It feels like hours not seconds. He glances to the side to look at me. I can hear my heart in my ears.

  One second, I’m looking at Grayson from the corner of my eye as we’re walking, and the next he’s pulling me toward him. He wraps our hands around the back of my waist, pulling my body close into his. Dropping the water bottle, he reaches his hand up to my neck, pulling my mouth a mere inch from his before pausing, so achingly close and yet still not kissing me.

  His fingers, cold and wet from the water bottle, caress the side of my neck. His thumb rubs softly over my jaw line and wanders across my lips, and then his hand shifts to cup my cheek in his palm.

  “Breathe, Samantha,” he whispers softly, mirroring the other night before we were interrupted. My smirk appears back on his lovely mouth, and his deep, ocean-blue eyes look as if there’s a fire lit behind them.

  I exhale softly, following any command he gives me. My entire body’s tingling with a heat that has nothing to do with the intensity of the afternoon sun and everything to do with this man holding me.

  My God, he smells fantastic.

  He slowly dips his head down, gently brushing his lips against mine, inquiring. The movement is full of passion and mischief. I can’t take this teasing any longer. I drop my water, grab his neck, and pull him a breath closer, ending the space between us.

  11

  If there were ever a point in my life when I thought I’d been kissed before, I was wrong.

  Grayson releases the hand he’s holding behind my back and spreads his fingers flat over my lower back, pressing my body into his. My now-free hand naturally goes to his bicep. I feel every muscle tense and relax with his movements. He tastes so good—like cinnamon and coffee. I wonder if he can still taste them on me, too, along with the vanilla from my creamer. I want to taste good for him, too.

  As he presses his tongue against mine, a sound barrels out of his chest. It’s primal and urgent, like a starved hunter who’s finally found the one food that could bring him back from the brink of death. His hand glides from my cheek to the back of my neck, matching mine. He presses our mouths deeper into one another.

  I can feel his knees bend slightly as he slides down my body, so we are equal height. His hand on my back slides down, cupping my backside in his palm. He squeezes hard, pushing my hips forward, pressing them firmly against his. The pressure makes us moan, mine breathy, his deep and raspy.

  Barely loosening his grip on my ass, his hand moves to the back of my upper thigh. In one motion, he pulls my left thigh forward, wrapping my legs around his waist as he lifts me off the ground without so much as a grunt of effort in the motion. I have the faint sense that he’s walking. The sound of his footsteps, heavy under our combined weight, battle against the drone of locusts in the woods around us.

  My back presses into the smooth bark of a tree behind me, and I move my arms up and over his broad shoulders to hold on, keeping him pressed to me in case there’s any chance he’d escape. The pressure of my weight moves from his hands to the tree.

  He slides his palm down the side of my neck and over the front of my shoulder, pausing. His thumb eases back and forth, massaging the flesh under my shirt just above my breast. I nip at his lower lip and squirm closer to his palm, begging without words for him to grab me.

  I can’t help the whine that escapes me when his hand leaves its wonderful
ly close spot by my right breast. I naturally push my chest into his in another desperate plea for him to touch me. Instead of answering the request, his hand slides down my ribs, over my waist, and down my hip, making the curves of my body feel as if they are the glove to his hand, a perfect fit to him. He slides up and down the length of my body with his hand, as if he’s been desperate to do it. Down and then back up. Only slightly releasing the pressure of our mouths, he curses low and desperate against my lips.

  When his hand slides back down, it keeps going to my thigh. He runs it around the back of my leg and gives one little pull, letting me know what he wants. I nod once against his mouth, still refusing to let his taste part from me, even a little.

  The bark, smooth as it is, still scratches at the center of my back as my position shifts, but then he pushes his hips into me. All other feelings disappear as I feel him, rock hard against me. Oh, fuck! This time we both moan at the feeling. Every nerve in my body is alive, and I’m lost in his movements. God bless zippers and the friction they create.

  Finally, easing some of the pain in my body, his hands glide up over both sides of my curves and find my breasts. He gathers one in each palm, gently moving over them, memorizing every arch of them. Identical motions on both breasts have my hips wiggling deeper into his. My legs tighten around his waist as pooling warmth drenches the bikini bottoms under my shorts.

  His thumbs pass over my nipples with a gentle rub, and they both tingle. One hand travels back under my hip, supporting my weight and pushing me harder onto him. It feels amazing. This is what I’ve needed for so long and didn’t know it, but somehow, he knew. Every movement he makes breaks down another wall.

  A desperate cry escapes me at the gentle flicking on my nipple, and I pull him closer. I can feel something building inside me. If I can just press against him a little harder, it’ll ease this torture—this aching inclination threatening to end all the strength I’ve been holding on to.